Blogs

I'm not sure what possessed me, but during high school I had the bright idea of trying out for the BHS Drillers football team...

WOW! The Big 3-0... 30 years... 1,560 weeks... 10,950 days ...262,800 hours... 15,768,000 minutes—and we've loved every second of it. Well maybe not every second, but you get the idea...

Phew! Where has the time gone? I didn’t realize it had been so long since I last blogged until Mike casually asked me if I had forgotten how to use the internet machine.

Kern County has been the birthplace of some pretty famous racing teams and drivers. From the Mears Gang and Warren, Coburn, and Miller; to Kevin Harvick—the list goes on. And that’s just in autos...

When it comes to change, I fear it as much as the next guy. Maybe more (just ask my wife). Sure, some changes are inevitable, and I usually agree after the fact that it was for the better. I mean, I finally got internet service that doesn't sound like a CB radio when you log in!

Like most kids, going to the movies was part of my youth. But as a family, going to the theater together was a no-no; taboo; strictly off limits!

Having been single for a number of years after my divorce, Mom and Dad—well, mostly Mom—being the ever-so-thoughtful parents that they are, decided it was high-time for me to have a “friend...”

Of all the pieces and parts that go into the magazine each issue, the cover is by far the most difficult. It’s a painstaking process that requires the talents of many to bring together a representative image of the current theme.

We’d been planning this night forever. I’m not sure who appointed us—I imagine we took it upon ourselves, being part of a clique known as “the parking lot pack” at school, since that’s where we spent most of our Senior year. It was sorta like our unspoken obligation. Neither jocks nor nerds, we fell somewhere in the middle...

I have some pretty fond memories of growing up. But in an otherwise great childhood, there were a few dark moments. One of those was, ironically, “family game night...”

I can't believe it's 2012. The year 2012 always seemed so far away when I was a kid. Like, really far away. Maybe it's because I had so many expectations for my life when I was younger. Maybe it's because the last 10 years have gone by so quickly that it's hard to imagine so much time has passed since I yearned to marry Elijah Wood (like I did in 1992) and drive around in a pink car while listening to Ace of Base (actual fantasy, ladies and gentlemen).

It’s 3 a.m. the day after Thanksgiving and I’m stumbling around in the dark, trying to wake up and get my bearings. I’m not even dressed yet; he’s ready—has been since 1 a.m. I find my way to the kitchen for a fix of caffeine and he’s pinging around the room like he’s indulged several times, talking a mile a minute with the excitement befitting a kid that just got his first kiss...

Joe Walsh’s “Life’s Been Good” was playing on the 8-track. I had just turned 16. I had a car and I had my band. And after months of preparation, we had just gotten the call that we were being booked to play the Kern County Fair Main Entrance Stage...life was good.

A band was born...

A few weeks ago, I celebrated a birthday. I turned 27.

When I told well-wishers my new age, I was treated to a variety of responses.

I’m a pretty handy guy around the house. I can fix things...really, I can. And I have the tools to prove it! But it usually takes an act of congress to get me motivated. Why?

I had the pleasure of writing a story for the forthcoming Man Issue. It is about cars.

The story also involves some men...but mostly, cars.

Long ago...well, maybe not that long ago, but when I was younger, and a merit badge-earning Cub Scout, I had the opportunity to volunteer during a live TV broadcast of the Jerry Lewis Telethon. I basically handed out prizes at the carnival games they had going on, and it was fun to be working in a TV studio...

Something has come to my attention: I write about music too much. Too much for a person who is, much to her chagrin, not a music journalist. I'm also not a musician, another career where a propensity for writing about bands, songs, and albums would seem natural. Unless you think playing the clarinet for five years as a teenager qualifies me as a “musician.” And somehow, no one ever does.

Grandma Sally was reflecting on the events of the day my mom was born. As I remember the story, it was a very hot July day in the thick of WWII. Grandpa Don, who was serving his country as an oil man, was able to stay in Kern County. Per Uncle Sam (the country’s uncle, not mine specifically), his expertise was needed at home...